


Memorized

by Vayaonline



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Argentina National Team, Athletic Trainer Iwaizumi Hajime, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heartbreak, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Night Stands, Post-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Slang, Sleepy Oikawa Tooru, Swearing, it's cute until it isn't, no beta we die like daichi, oikawa visits japan, probably for the olympics, to be fair i didn't really think that far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29656464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vayaonline/pseuds/Vayaonline
Summary: Oikawa wakes up to another empty bed... no surprise, right?
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 65





	Memorized

**Author's Note:**

> _if you want some extra angst, listen to the acoustic version of i don't wanna know by goldhouse and mokita while you read this_

An empty hotel bed was nothing new. It had happened enough—the spark, the kiss, the night, and then the morning, and along with it, the cold—that Tooru barely registered the empty space at his side when sunlight peeked through the balcony curtains. Whatever. He fumbled, eyes still firmly shut, for the other pillow and threw it over his head with a sigh. It was early, he was sure. He hadn’t slept past seven since his arrival in Japan, some sick combination of the jetlag and the nerves. And if the sun was rousing him, at the height of summer in Tokyo, then he was waking up right on time. 

In time to hear the hotel door click shut, at any rate.

“Thanks for the fun night,” Tooru grumbled from under the pillow. “Come back anytime.”

He’d learned a lot in Argentina.

How many times had he woken up alone after a long night with someone vibrant and beautiful and perfectly inconsequential? How many times had they crossed paths again, at the bakery below his apartment, or the bar fifteen minutes away, or even at a match, cheering for the team on the other side of the net? Even the regulars didn’t stay in the morning, and that had worked out fine for Tooru. They had their fill, and he had his, and none of it mattered when the sun came up.

“I can just lay here, right?” He asked the empty room. “I worked hard last night.”

Bits and pieces of the night before filtered through the haze of sleep as he lay, safe and shadowed, beneath the pillow. _Rough fingers brushing hair from his forehead, the gentle drag of calloused hands against the skin of his jaw, laughter he couldn’t hear, a stupid shirt hiding broad, sturdy shoulders—_

“Such a stupid shirt.” Tooru smiled, the memory of the slippery, stretchy knit, the floppy excuse for a collar done in bright and bold contrast color, the four buttons that ran from the delicate skin of a throat straight down to the heart. He curled up beneath the blankets, still warm, still hazy, not quite ready to open his eyes and face the day as he was just beginning to remember the night. “Can’t believe I took you home with me wearing that thing, Iwa.”

The pillow crossed the room when he shot up, jaw slack and eyes wide. 

_“Concha de la lora,”_ he whispered. “No, no, no, no, _no.”_

_“Yes,” Hajime murmured in his ear. The gravel in his voice sent shivers down Tooru’s spine even as Hajime pulled him closer, his back flush against that broad chest. “Of course I missed you, dumbass.”_

“No.” Tooru covered his mouth with his hands, certain if he didn’t, he would scream. “I—we—”

_“That doesn’t sound like bedroom talk, Iwa.” He spun in Hajime’s arms and pushed, sending him falling into the plush duvet atop the hotel bed. The barest sliver of moonlight cut through the gap in the curtains and caught in Hajime’s eyes, shining and unfathomable and agonizingly familiar. Tooru settled a knee just to the side of Hajime’s hip, the faintest friction sparking against his thigh. “Maybe you need a lesson?”_

_Hajime brushed his fingers through the waves of hair that settled just above Tooru’s ears for a moment, before his hand slid further and pulled him down, so they were nose to nose, with only Tooru’s knee and a singular elbow bracing him against the bed. “You wanna do bedroom talk, use the right name.”_

_“Hajime, then.” Even inches away, his eyes were shockingly obscure. “Say it.”_

_“Say what?”_

The sun burned brighter into the room, and the light pricked at Tooru’s eyes. “I can’t do this.”

_“Tell me,” he started, and leaned closer still, until he could feel the berest edge of Hajime’s lips beneath his own. “Tell me you want me. I want to hear you say it.”_

_Hajime’s fingers flexed against the nape of his neck. “Tooru…”_

He drew his knees to his chest when his eyes began to burn. “I didn’t want… not you.”

The empty space at his side had never felt lonely. Not lonelier, at least, than the move to Argentina had been, his nineteenth birthday spent speaking broken Spanish at a dive bar not far from the gym, rowdy teammates clapping him on the shoulder and trying out their own rudimentary Japanese for the first time as a kind of present, he was sure. But it wasn’t home, and it wasn’t Hajime, and he’d gotten used to the hollow weight of it fast. And every morning he woke up alone, when there should have been someone beside him, he’d shrugged his shoulders and carried on. It wasn’t home. And it wasn’t Hajime.

He fell back to the bed, curling the duvet tight to his chest as the tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. “Yeah. It’s fine. Not like it meant anything, right?”

_“Of course I want you.”_

It was worse, somehow, to hear the lie again in his own head, with the harsh glare of the sun burning a threatening line between the curtains. It was worse, somehow, to wake up to an empty bed when he’d been _home_ only a few hours before, in the arms he’d hoped for every day since he was seventeen, and stupid, and fumbling over words like _I love you_ and _I’m sorry._ It was worse, somehow, that he’d woken up too late— _moments_ too late, lazy bastard—to catch him slipping out of bed and into his clothes and out the door without a single goodbye.

“Can’t believe I’m crying over this. As if I want to hear him tell me why it was _stupid_ and how he doesn’t _need_ me and that we should never, _ever_ do it again. Sure, yeah, whatever. I don’t care,” he muttered. “I don’t want to know.”

A loud **_bang_** shook him out of his head, and he scowled at the door.

Another bang sounded, followed by a gruff, _“Tooru! Open the damn door!”_

_“Iwa?!”_ He leapt out of bed, barely taking the time to grab his pajama pants from their place, neatly folded and unused, from the drawer in the bedside table. With wide eyes, he swung the hotel room door open, and there was Hajime, in his stupid shirt and what might well have been Tooru’s pants, arms folded and brow furrowed, but still in front of him, just the same.

“Took you long enough, I was knocking for five minutes.” He brushed past Tooru as though nothing was amiss, falling back onto the hotel bed with a sigh. A single bag hung round one of his wrists. Behind Tooru, the door clicked shut.

“You—that was _not_ five minutes,” he choked.

Hajime cocked his head and sat back up, staring intently at Tooru. “Are… you’re crying.”

Tooru ducked his head defensively. “No, I’m not.”

Another sigh, the creak of a bedframe, and a few short steps, and Hajime’s hands were on his cheeks, tilting his head up to meet his eyes. “Yeah you are, dumbass.”

“Well, you—”

“Oh, you’re not really gonna blame this on me, are you?” Hajime smirked, but it fell away when Tooru blinked away from him. “Seriously, what’s wrong.”

“You _left.”_

There was a beat of silence, and Tooru tensed, waiting for the words he knew were coming.

“I got a _work call.”_ Hajime rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “And I didn’t want to _wake you up_ so I _went to the lobby._ And then I _bought you breakfast,_ but yeah, sure, I left. Yep, definitely what happened, cuz I’m definitely the guy who sneaks out on you.”

Tooru looked back, bewildered. “I… what?”

Hajime laughed, eyes warm and, maybe, a touch exasperated. “What did I say last night?”

“You called me a dumbass.”

“I did that this morning.”

“You also did that last night.”

Hajime pressed his forehead to Tooru’s. “The other thing.”

“You said you want me.” It was easy to say, somehow, in the bright morning light, with Hajime dressed for work and him in his pajamas. It was easy to stand there, tears drying on his cheeks with Hajime’s calloused thumbs carefully soothing his cheekbones. It was easy, being home.

Hajime smiled. “Yeah. So don’t be a dumbass, okay?”

Tooru tilted his chin up, until their lips were barely brushing. “Alright, _Hajime,_ if that’s what you want.”

“I do.”


End file.
